


Female Sensuality and Identity Crises

by curtaincall



Category: Community (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-05
Updated: 2014-02-05
Packaged: 2018-01-11 06:01:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1169552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curtaincall/pseuds/curtaincall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Evil Abed runs into Annie. Set near the end of Season 3.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Female Sensuality and Identity Crises

Annie was—well, she forgot, later, what she was doing, right before it all happened. What came after was so much more, in every possible way, that all the events immediately before or after that one paled away in comparison until they blended with the pastels of so many other yesterdays and tomorrows, indistinguishable, unremarkable.

But Annie had been doing something, she must have been doing something, at the moment when the Dreamatorium door opened and Abed stepped out, alone. Which was strange in and of itself, but what was far stranger was the felt goatee he was from some reason sporting.

"Hi, Abed," she said, and smiled up at him. "Rendering imaginated dreamscapes again?"

"No," he said, and she blinked, because that voice was both Abed's and not Abed's—it was lower, rougher, harsher. Sultrier. Not that she would ever—"No, I've been doing nothing imaginary. I've been doing something very real. I've become something very real."

"You mean someone," Annie said quietly.

His eyes narrowed. "What?"

"You don't become something. You become someone. I shouldn't have mentioned it. I'm sorry. It was pedantic of me…"

"You're damn right it was pedantic of you." He was—and she couldn't for the life of her remember how it happened—standing directly behind her, and his breath was on her neck and his lips were oh so close to her ear. "And I don't like being corrected."

"Abed, what are you…" She turned to look up at him, but her eyes didn't meet his, because his eyes were busy travelling up and down her body with an expression she'd never seen before. "What are you doing?" She crossed her arms across her chest protectively, but somehow that didn't make her feel any less exposed. And that was frightening, because this was Abed. This was the person she'd always felt completely safe with, and now he was someone different, and not in a good Han-Solo way, and not in a funny Batman way, but in a completely new and completely sinister way, and if Abed was ogling her now than who could she trust not to? "Okay, stop it, now. This isn't funny and it isn't cute and you're starting to scare me, Abed, so can you please stop?"

"I've always wanted you to beg me to stop," he said then, and Annie shivered at the edge to his voice, and at the way it cut her. "And now look at you. Flustered over nothing at all. It takes so little to set you off, doesn't it? Even Lame Abed can get a blush or an eyelash flutter out of you. All I need to do is this—" he placed a hand on her hand, but didn't hold it in the way she was used to—instead, he applied pressure, softly at first, then with more force, until his fingers were cradling hers and hers were cradling her thigh. She sucked in a breath. "All I need to do is this, and you're mine." He was behind her, now, and his mouth was near enough to her neck that she'd turned pink, and as she turned to look up at him she didn't break the handhold.

"Who's Lame Abed?" she asked, seizing on the least inflammatory thing she'd heard. She didn't—she couldn't think about how intimate he'd just revealed his knowledge of her to be, how strangely and disturbingly accurate his summary was. All those times…she'd thought he'd never noticed, when she smiled at him shyly and looked away. Well, the joke was on her now. He'd noticed, and he was taking full advantage.

"Lame Abed is the Abed you know. He darts around his feelings. He cloaks everything in glib pop-culture references and twee quirks. I'm Evil Abed, and I'm so much more than him because I'm not afraid to stop being neutral. Because I've committed far more completely to my own character than he ever could."

"So tell me about this character," Annie said, beginning to relax. If they were going to begin analyzing his personality—well, that was territory she felt far more comfortable with.

But he placed his other hand on her waist, and, leaning down (he was so tall! How had she never noticed how tall he was before?), he whispered, "Nice try. You're not distracting me that easily."

"Distracting you from what?"

"From this." He removed his hand from her waist and used it to angle her chin so they were looking into each other's eyes, his face just—she couldn't calculate it, just inches, centimeters, just a breath away from hers. And then he closed the gap, and she felt the fabric of his goatee against her skin, and the roughness of his chapped lips on hers.

He pulled his hand away from her chin and placed it on her waist again, but higher this time, and it slowly inched up until it was cupping one of her breasts. He was still behind her, but now he used the hand which was pressing her hand to spin her around so they were pushed up against each other, face to face, with nothing between them as he continued to kiss her, working his mouth around hers until she felt that she might as well be swallowed up by him.

As he pulled away from her to breathe—she had forgotten that breathing was a necessity—she let her eyes flutter open (when had they closed?) and saw him, ridiculous goatee and all, and took a step back, breaking any contact they still had, because oh dear, this was Abed, and if he was playing a character now it was some twisted version of himself, and nothing that happened now could be written off.

"Where are you going?" he asked, and she flushed still pinker at the sound of his deepened voice. "I'm not finished with you yet."

"Abed, I—"

"Shh." He stepped towards her again, and she felt the heat of his breath again and all she could do was acquiesce—and they were kissing again, this time with equal vigor, and Annie didn't have time to analyze or second-guess, because all she wanted now was to take advantage of this evil Abed who was everything her Abed was not, and her mind had no room for anything other than the present.

So they grasped each other, arms in arms, hands on hands, then hands on waists and chests and legs: his fingers were somehow caressing her breasts again, and they'd bypassed the low neckline of her sweater and gone straight for the skin, heaving the delicate masses together till they touched all down the middle, and her own hands were stroking his torso, dipping lower and lower in an attempt to make him cry out with pleasure. He grunted against her shoulder, employing his lips there to make it clear they ought to be heading towards her bedroom, but she, unable to wait, shook her head and, undoing the last button of her cardigan as he struggled with his, pulled him down above her on the kitchen table.

Horizontal, now, they rolled over and over in a frenzy of tongues and touches until they fell onto the floor, and Annie was down to her bra now, and her skirt was starting to slide down, and Abed's jeans were seconds from removal—and a fumble, or a kiss, or a caress from her dislodged the felt beard from his face, and it fluttered onto the tiles.

Annie didn't care—it had been hard to reach him, anyway, under the material—but the moment the goatee touched the floor, Abed stopped kissing her and stood up. "I'm sorry, Annie," he said, and turned towards the Dreamatorium. She was too surprised to react, too choked on leftover lust to speak, but he must have read the question in her eyes, because he answered: "I'd like to apologize for Evil Abed's behavior. He's trying to escape from his timeline, and seeing you—it must have driven him mad. I hope it won't happen again, but you'd better leave the apartment for now. Too tempting."

He opened the Dreamatorium door and went in, and Annie was left half-naked on their kitchen floor, bewildered, aroused, and on the verge of tears.

  
  



End file.
